


Times Sterys Hawke Lost

by kheradihr



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-29
Packaged: 2017-11-21 17:10:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/600154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kheradihr/pseuds/kheradihr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Sterys Hawke lost something dear to her. Four times, she lost. The fifth, she gained.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Malcolm and Carver

Back pressed against a pillar, her thighs pillows for Bethany and her mother, Hawke stared out of the grate on the deck to the blackness of night trying to shake off the weight on her shoulders enough to let her sleep. She considered praying but it seemed pointless. Hawke didn’t have Mother’s enduring faith or her sister’s inexhaustible optimism that things would get better. Besides, what would she say to the Maker? ‘Thank you for letting us live at the cost of my little brother’? There was a reason she hadn’t prayed to Him since her father died. And with the luck she had been having He would probably answer her directly. What with meeting Flemeth, hearing the Maker’s voice would probably either break her brain or she would just chalk it up to the world going insane. Her lips twisted. The world wasn’t going insane; it already was. This was just the inevitable downhill slide before everything ended. When it did end she would still be here, trying and failing to do her job. She thunked her head against the wood support trying to bang out the unnecessary thoughts since she could no longer spar with Carver.

Carver. Her stupid, impulsive, stubborn, challenging little brother. Even though he had towered over her, she would always see him as her ‘little’ brother. He may’ve been capable of slinging about a two-handed sword like it was a broom but the memory of having to guard the privy door at night because he was too scared to piss on his own took away some of the awe. Now the only thing she had left of him was Bethany. She stroked her sister’s hair, musing on how much like twins they had looked when sleeping. When they were awake, they only resembled each other in the set of their jaws. Her father had always said that they were so similar they couldn’t help but clash. She grit her teeth against the flood of emotion threatening to drown her when she thought of him.

Now more than ever did Hawke miss her father’s wisdom. Malcolm had been the cornerstone of the family allowing Leandra the freedom to worry enough for the whole village. He had also been the one to encourage Sterys to learn the skills of a rogue when she had shown no talent for magic and was the one to teach her how to combat a mage’s magic and defeat them quickly. It was also his influence that made Haine a part of the family when the smoke-colored mabari puppy followed her home from the market. Losing him hurt more than getting hit by an ogre’s fist at Ostagar. Her head found the support once again, this time pressing so hard against it it made her skull ache. She was enough of a soldier that pain no longer caused tears.

“Can’t sleep?” Aveline asked quietly next to her. Only self-control kept Hawke from jumping and waking the remainder of her family. They needed their rest.

“I have a lot on my mind. Did I wake you?”

Aveline shook her head. “I hadn’t fallen asleep myself. Losing someone you love is never easy.”

“Two.”

“Pardon?” Aveline had to lean closer to Sterys to hear her soft words.

“We’ve lost two. My father died a few years ago. I…I haven’t had the chance to mourn him, what with taking care of my family and now this.” Her chin lifted enough to gesture at the hold they were sleeping in.

“I’m sorry. I had no idea. Your mother never mentioned anything.”

“Of course we wouldn’t,” Hawke snapped, her voice growing harsh. It was a habit from any time someone – namely Templars – tried to chat her up about her family. “You just don’t go around announcing that your father wasted away because he didn’t want us to be betrayed for being and harboring apostates.” There was a deep guilt in her still. She could have found another apostate that knew healing magic or tracked down a Dalish clan. There were a number that passed by Lothering and since the Hawkes lived so far out on the outskirts that no one would have known they dealt with the Dalish.

Aveline’s eyes were wide as they darted between Leandra, Bethany and Hawke. She swallowed. “Is anyone else in your family a mage?”

There was a mean edge in Hawke’s voice when she replied. Old pain and old bitterness. “Just Father and Bethany. I think Mother and Father were relieved when Carver and I turned out to not have magic considering the amount in our bloodlines.”

“Oh.” There was nothing else Aveline could say. ‘I’m sorry’ was too trite and an apology would be shrugged off. Being married to a Templar left its mark. The two fell silent as they heard the wood groan from the night patrol’s footfalls nearing. When the steps faded, Hawke exhaled.

“You would think after surviving Ostagar a few darkspawn would be easy to handle. I just can’t figure out how it could go all wrong.”

“It’s not your fault, Hawke.”

“After Father, I’m the eldest. The leader. It has to be my fault or they died for nothing. I will not let their deaths be in vain.”

Aveline shook her head. She hadn’t been with the family for long but she knew that when it came to her family Hawke could be incredibly stubborn. “Fine. But when you’re done guilting yourself for something you had no control over, mourn them. You won’t be able to move on if you don’t.”

Advice given, Aveline hunkered down on the other side of Haine and fell asleep. As she watched her mother, Haine and Bethany sleep she let Aveline’s words turn over and over in her head like when she would toss her knife to think. Two small tears rolled from her eyes and dried before they left her cheeks. Her reply was a whisper in the dark.

“I know.”

 


	2. Bethany

Back in Kirkwall after being in the Deep Roads for weeks Fenris had a plan. He was going to go home and drink as he watched the sky go from day to night to day again and then sleep for a week in a real bed. He may not be Dalish but even he didn’t like being under that much stone. In the secrecy of his own mind he agreed with the abomination; he hated the blighted Deep Roads.

It was early evening and three bottles in when he heard the door to his mansion slam shut. He rose from his cushions on his makeshift balcony – the roof of the mansion’s servants’ quarters outside his window – and reached for his greatsword.

“Fenris?”

Hawke’s voice, high and somewhat strangled, made him reach for his tunic instead, sliding it on before walking out of the room. She was standing in the hall alone, oddly uneasy, not even her mabari in tow. It was disconcerting. She had been so excited to see her family a few hours ago that she left the crew the moment they entered Kirkwall. There may have even been threats to their person if they disturbed her for the rest of they day.

“Hawke, is something the matter?”

She laughed, sounding a little confused. “I—I didn’t know where to go. I just couldn’t be at home anymore.”

“Come up, then. I have a bottle open.”

She sat in the chair gingerly, as if she was afraid that either her or the chair would break if she moved too fast. When he offered her the bottle she drank deeply before smiling wanly at him. Her eyes were bloodshot and her hands raw.

“I’m sorry for bothering you Fenris. I’ll—”

“What happened Hawke?” He interrupted simply because it unnerved him seeing her so shaken and apologizing. That was the abomination’s job to apologize nonstop, not hers. He watched her throat work as she tried to push out the words.

“They took Bethany.”

“Who?”

“The Templars! I left her in Kirkwall so she’d be safe. So Mother wouldn’t lose her last baby and what happened _? The one sodding thing I’ve tried to prevent since the day she accidently lit the rooster on fire!_ ”

He knew that he was out of his depth with a highly emotional Hawke on his hands. He also knew from overhearing Aveline and Varric talk that she had lost her father a few years ago, Bethany’s twin brother Carver in their journey to Kirkwall and that in everything her family came first. What he didn’t understand was why she came to him.

“Are you sure you don’t have anywhere you can go?” he asked, replacing the empty bottle in her hands with a new one and opening one for himself. It seemed like it was just that kind of night. “Aveline or Varric perhaps?”

“Aveline is busy with Guard work.” Her voice shifted from dismissive to vehement. “And I am not, on the heels of his brother’s betrayal, telling Varric that Bethany was taken. There’s a reason why he calls her Sunshine.”

There went his two primary choices. “What about the abomin—er, Anders? He seems rather fond of you.” Fond being a relative term for the attachment the man seemed to have for her after one show of kindness. It made him sick seeing the way the abomination fawned over her.

Hawke made a face almost mirroring his own distaste. “I don’t want anyone’s pity. I just want to be somewhere with someone I trust who isn’t going to pity me or judge me weak.”

At this point he was fumbling for straws. “Would you like to sit closer to the hearth?”

“No.”

The other option was to continue his plan with a petite – if a bit emotionally unstable and mulish – addition. It seemed like the best option since Hawke had turned inward and quietly drank from her bottle as she stared anywhere but the fire.

“Hawke.” When she looked up at him with dull eyes, he stood and gestured to the open window. In his time serving Danarius he had seen many a magister woo a young girl with similar moves. He hoped it would coax her to be more amiable, if for only a moment. “I was watching the night pass when you came over. Would you like to join me?”

It may not be a night to practice his flattery but it was one to practice his manners. She followed him outside and sank into some cushions a comfortable distance away.

“Could I stay here a couple of nights?” The question was so abrupt after her silence he didn’t have time to think of the implications.

“The two rooms upstairs are free.”

Tension visibly left her shoulders. “Thank you, Fenris. I don’t think I can sleep in front of the hearth at my uncle’s right now, or any hearth for that matter. Not with Bethany gone.”

Everyone who worked with Hawke knew that Hawke’s uncle Gamlen was utterly useless and too cheap to buy mattresses for his nieces to sleep on but he hadn’t known – most likely no one knew, Hawke was very good at keeping secrets – that her and Bethany were sleeping in front of the hearth like servants with nothing but their dog and each other to keep them warm. And now both Bethany and Hawke would be sleeping colder. Hawke deserved better; Varric, maybe Aveline, would hear about this.

“I didn’t mind not having a bed; Mother sleeps on the spare. It was just like when we were little. Any time Bethany had a nightmare she would always crawl in with me. As she awakened as a mage, the nightmares got worse. And don’t start on your ‘mages are monsters’ spiel,” she snapped at Fenris even though he hadn’t said anything. “I was the one there protecting her even in sleep from everything that would harm her. What is she going to do now?”

“She will be strong because she’s a Hawke,” Fenris replied. “You said it yourself; you trust Bethany.”

Hawke blinked a few times before nodding. She obviously hadn’t expected his response. Truth be told, he hadn’t realized he felt that way about the girl either. But she was smart and discreet about her magic and never looked down on him, much like Hawke. Bethany was probably the only mage he willingly tolerated, perhaps even liked. He would miss the girl.

“It will be lonely without her around.” She chuckled blackly. “She’s only one who called me by my given name. With everyone calling me Hawke I’m liable to forget what it is.”

Hearing humor from her, as dark as it was, gave Fenris hope and a sliver of something else. He quickly took a large gulp of wine before speaking honestly. “Sterys is too beautiful of a name to forget. Everyone is too intimidated by your reputation or personality to simply call you by your first name.”

She set her empty bottle aside and took his, very pointedly taking a drink while their eyes met. It was a challenge. He cocked an eyebrow before opening his hand. She returned his wine bottle.

“You’re not.”

This wasn’t flirtation or romance but something else; a step towards that perhaps. She had given him her trust; he could offer her something more. He made sure their eyes were still locked before speaking.

“No. But I do respect you a great deal Sterys.”

Many bottles later, they watched the sun rise and when Sterys excused herself to crash in the next room Fenris headed for Lowtown. A swift kick had Varric awake and listening.

“So Sunshine’s gone.” The mournful tone that was missing with his brother’s betrayal was there now. Bethany had touched many in her short time amongst the crew.

“Yes. Hawke is sleeping off a quarter of my wine cellar in my spare room right now.”

“This is why we can have – or want, for that matter – nice things,” Varric said sagely. “What do you want me to do, Broody?”

“Get the word out. Discreetly. Either way if she thinks she’s being pitied or coddled she’ll probably stab someone.” It was surprising how little tolerance she had for some things.

“One question.”

“What?”

“Can I do this after I get some sleep?”

<><><> 

A bottle with a very colorful label was set before him. Fenris looked up at the one bringing it. Sterys smiled sideways.

“It’s Orlesian. And expensive. Cost me about twenty-five sovereigns. And that was with me lying out my ass and bargaining.”

“What’s the occasion Sterys?” He was pretty sure he didn’t have this type of wine downstairs. The label was very simple compared to the ones in the cellar.

“It’s a thank you.”

“For what?”

“Varric told me.” She waited for the swearing in Tevinter to die down before continuing. “I had remarked to him that everyone was reacting better than I expected when I told them about Bethany. I heard him say under his breath that I needed to thank you for that. After threatening to pluck every hair from his chest – and pulling a few to make my point – he told me why.” Her voice and eyes softened. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I did. You do a lot for us. Including the blood mage and abomination.” He ignored her frown of disapproval for calling Anders an abomination. She was even more cautious in mentioning anything that would draw the eyes of the Templars. “The least we can do is make this easier for you.”

She smiled and brushed the white fringe out of his eyes. In the motion of it her fingertips accidentally touched his skin. She froze. When he didn’t pull away or hiss in pain she whispered a kiss to his temple, more on hair than skin. “I have to clear out a group of smugglers on the docks tonight but I’ll be over tomorrow to drink that with you, if you want.”

He was surprised to feel such sincerity when he replied.

“I look forward to it.”

 


	3. Fenris

Back against the proverbial wall, Varric could only agree to Hawke’s demand that they get good-and-well trashed together despite the fact that there probably wasn’t enough alcohol in Kirkwall to do that properly and that Hawke actually hated getting drunk.

“You have to tell me why if I’m doing this,” he said, trying to get something out of this beyond the typical hangover the size of Thedas that would inevitably come when drinking with Hawke. The woman could out drink the entire population of Orzammar if she put her mind to it. Thank the Maker she didn’t, not often at least.

“Fine,” she sighed as she opened the first bottle of whisky. She was going for the hard stuff first, completely ignoring Corff’s rotgut. Varric was in for a hell of a night. “I might as well tell you now before anyone sees him. Speculation is more rampant in our merry little band than apostates.”

He had to swallow, he could almost taste the story. “So?”

“He left me. We finally got somewhere for all the years of dancing around each other and he left.”

“Who left who?” Isabela asked, sticking her head in on her way to the bar.

“I’m trying to figure that out. You can join us if you put into the pot,” he gestured to the bottles of alcohol. It took a total of three seconds for her to get a bottle and join them at the table in Varric’s suite. Once Isabela poured herself a glass Varric turned back to Hawke. “Continue.”

Hawke rolled her eyes. “After the Hadrianna debacle Fenris showed up at my house. We talked. Then we argued. And after…”

Her face blossomed in the most impressive blush he had ever seen. Isabela was gaping in open shock. Good to know someone else was amazed to learn that Hawke could blush. He eventually recovered from his shock and thought about the implications.

“About time.”

“Was it hot?” Isabela asked the same time Varric commented.

Hawke’s only reply was to turn even redder.

“And?”

Just as fast as the blush came it went.

“When I wake up he’s not in bed. He’s already dressed and looking like I caught him sneaking out.” She took a huge swallow of her whisky. “He told me he can’t be with me. That it was too hard. Then he—Isabela, where are you going?”

The pirate had been heading for the door when Hawke’s question stopped her. “To tell Sparkles what he did and see if he’ll help me kill Fenris.”

“Sit down, Rivaini. If Hawke wanted him dead we’d be hiding a body instead of drinking.” Varric poured another round for everyone before turning to Hawke. “There must be something else bothering you or you wouldn’t be here drinking. You’re not the type to just take rejection like that.”

“Yeah,” agreed Isabela, once again draped in her chair. “Why aren’t you kicking down Broody’s door demanding answers?”

“Because he was wearing my ribbon and crest when he left.”

“Wait. You have ribbons? Actual girly ribbons?” Isabela was on the verge of laughing herself sick from whatever visual was in her head.

Hawke cracked a dry smile. “I don’t know how ‘girly’ they are since my mother bought them for me to tie onto my weapons and armor. She said I needed to wear Amell colors.”

“Ah,” nodded Varric. “Leandra’s self-advertising method.  She still trying to get you married even with you bedding Broody?”

Hawke scowled into her cup. “She doesn’t know. By the time we made it to my room she and the household had already gone to bed.”

Varric had to give Hawke credit, she didn’t stab either of them the entire time he and Isabela laughed at her. Maybe not at her, but her situation. Sod it, it was all funny.

“So you didn’t accomplish anything.” Isabela clarified as she wiped the tears from her eyes.

Hawke’s upper lip jumped in an obvious effort not to snarl; efforts in futility were one of her biggest pet peeves which was probably why she only spoke to Merrill when necessary. Daisy had other gifts beyond blood magic, it seemed. It also showed how cracked the Dalish were to keep her as long as they did.

She growled. “No.”

Knowing that Hawke’s considerable patience was wearing thin Varric returned to the topic at hand.

“Back on track, Rivaini. You said Broody had your crest miniature with him when he left. _Your_ crest?”

Those crests were heirlooms of the Hawke family, especially the ones for Carver and her father. They sat at the small shrine to Andraste Leandra tended to. The fact that he made it out of the mansion alive with one, let alone Hawke’s, meant something.

He remembered when she spent hours at this table using his carving tools – never used until she touched them – to hand carve and paint five Amell crests, one for each of her family members. It had been right after they reclaimed the house and she had been kicked out while Leandra redecorated. Each day was filled with the tense quiet of concentration interrupted by swearing when she cut herself or was startled by someone. Everyone was sure to give her space after she turned on Merrill. The girl had been offering unwanted advice on Dalish wood crafting and before Fenris had had a chance to snarl the girl quiet Hawke snapped, brandished a paint-coated brush and snarled, “By Andraste and every other venerated being, Merrill, if you do not shut up right now I will paint you so red there’ll be no question you’re a blood mage and dump you in the Gallows.”

Considering everything she had gone through in the past few months not even Aveline could hold it against her for losing her temper like that.

Hawke nodded. “Fenris isn’t the type to take trophies. So why would he take something of mine after we had sex if he was just going to leave?”

“Speaking of the lyrium-limned devil, he just walked in,” Isabela warned casually.

Much like her blush, it was the first time they had ever seen Hawke alarmed.

“Shit. What do I do?”

“Hide.” The bedroom was a no-go especially considering their topic of conversation. As impressive as the magical fist-through-the-chest trick was, Varric didn’t want to experience it first hand. “Under the table.”

“You’ve got to be kidding Varric! My dog can’t even fit under it!”

“Good thing you’re not a mabari then. Get down.”

Swearing under her breath and taking her jigger with her, Hawke shimmied underneath just as Fenris was coming up the stairs. And as Hawke had said, he had a red band around his right wrist and her crest miniature – one could tell because hers was the first and obviously experimental piece – on his left hip. He looked tired.

“What’s up Broody?” Varric asked, trying to be as casual as he could with Hawke tracing ‘I’m going to let Haine chew on Bianca if this goes badly’ on his shin. “Want a drink?”

“No, thank you. Is…Sterys around?”

Oh-ho. Something definitely must have happened if the elf was calling Hawke by her first name. No one but Leandra did that.

“Haven’t seen her all night,” Isabela drawled, lying effortlessly. She leaned forward, using the move to press her breasts up higher. “Why? You looking for her?”

“Er, no. I have done… _something_ to hurt her and I have no doubt speaking to her would be difficult for us both.”

Varric had to help the man out, he was floundering so badly. Besides, it was sweet that he was actually making an effort to look into Isabela’s eyes. “You want me to pass on a message?”

“I would be…grateful if you did.” Fenris handed over a folded piece of paper to Varric, nodded to both of them and left like Danarius was on his tail.

When Isabela gave them the all-clear after tailing Fenris out of Lowtown Hawke crawled out from under the table and stretched. “Well?”

“If I were you I’d check my bed for something red and squishy, maybe still beating,” Isabela offered cheerily. She was enjoying this. “He looked as if he did his magical fisting thing and left his heart behind.”

Hawke turned to Varric, eyebrow raised and skepticism obvious.

“She’s right, my friend. I could put it to prose if you want it to sound prettier. Though not,” he said as Hawke slumped into her seat. He offered her the folded parchment. “This was for you. And no, I didn’t look even though I wanted to.”

She straightened and snatched it out of his hand. It looked like she read it about a hundred times, eyes devouring each word. With each reading her eyes shined in a way that everyone would recognize.

“What does it say?” demanded Isabela impatiently.

Hawke thought about it for a moment before offering her knife. The two rogues both nicked their finders and spread their blood on the blade swearing secrecy. Satisfied Hawke handed the letter over for the two of them to read. The handwriting was messy but legible.

 

_Sterys,_

_Even though I cannot be with you, know that I am ever here for you. As long as you need me, I am yours to command. I will understand if you wish to discontinue our reading lessons. If it is unbearable to speak with me, you can send word through Orana._

_Ever yours, Fenris_

 

“Aww!” Isabela cooed as Varric returned the letter, which he noticed Hawke tucking away underneath her jerkin. It was time for a heart-to-heart with Hawke.

“Rivaini. Go away.” Isabela tried to protest but one look sent her out, taking the nicest bottle in retaliation. He turned back on Hawke and without preamble pointed out, “You care about him.”

She nodded slowly, coming to realize this at the same time he had. “You know, I was so focused on my family I guess it just crept up on me. I think I love him Varric.”

“I’m pretty sure he feels the same way. D’you remember what that dragon woman asked him? Between her words and his behavior he’s got some serious issues. So. What are you going to do?”

Her eyes held an expression he had come to recognize early on. Determination. That coupled with the emotion lighting her eyes up like Blondie’s glow mode made her seem scarier than Aveline on one of her crusades.

“I think reading lessons are still on.”

Varric breathed a sigh of relief into his cup. Nothing like kindling passion in the heart of the most determined woman he’d ever known to save him from liver damage.

 


	4. Leandra

Back at home – could she really call it that without her family? – Hawke stared into the fire waiting. She didn’t know what she was waiting for. Uncle Gamlen was already gone. She doubted she’d see him again. The only reason why he visited at all was because of Mother. She couldn’t be waiting for the others; they were all on the first floor, milling about the living room and library. Isabela and Varric were trying to stem Orana’s torrential tears but even their charm and cajoling could not halt the flow. Aveline, voice firm with authority even when not in Guard armor, turned unwanted visitors away from the Hawke mansion, slamming the door in and on people’s faces to get the point across. Even from her room, Sterys could hear Sebastian and Merrill praying, invocations to both the Maker and the Creators somehow carrying over the din. No one had come up to her room since she returned. Haine guarded the stairs, snarling and snapping at anyone who tried to approach her room. Anders nearly lost his fingers trying to pass her stalwart mabari.

What was she waiting for?

_Mother would know._

That thought echoed in her heart and head on and on where there should have been the reaction to her mother’s death. Without Leandra there there wasn’t a constant voice in Sterys’ ear and head telling her how she should think and feel. No wonder all of this felt so hollow.

The near silent footfalls and subtle clank of metal warned Hawke of who somehow got past Haine. It made sense though; after all, he was the mabari’s favorite guest next to Aveline.

“Varric has just breached a cask of Leandra’s favorite wine. Everyone is taking a moment to say something about her and toast in her name,” Fenris said, standing in the doorway. “Even Orana. Though, I think Isabela hopes the wine will help Orana sleep rather than cry.”

“Is it my fault?” Hawke asked, voice as hollow as she felt.

He sighed and sat next to her on the bed. She couldn’t muster up the longing she knew she should have felt having him so close.

“Does it really matter who is at fault? Will it make the pain easier to bear?”

“I…I don’t know. I just think I should – need to feel _something_.”

“Sterys, your mother was just kidnapped and brutally murdered. It’s not surprising you don’t feel anything. It’s called shock.” Fenris always had a way of being kind even when blunt and bitter.

For the first time since her mother died in her arms Hawke turned and looked at Fenris. “Do you feel like this?”

“Many times. Most of them willfully evoked. Not feeling was the only way I could survive.” He reached for her hand, paused and let his hand rest on the bed between them. “One day you will feel, Sterys, and it will hurt but that will not diminish Leandra’s memory.”

Then the odd times where she saw him and her mother’s heads bent together in conversation suddenly made sense. “You liked my mother.”

“I did. Leandra was a good woman who welcomed all of us, no matter how dubious our backgrounds. A large portion of good in the world left with her.”

She nodded, his words comforting her in a way she hadn’t expected. A vague sense of loss wormed its way into her mind and it was enough for now.

“Would you come down and join us? The others would like to see you.” He had to ask since he was the only one Haine was letting upstairs. If he hadn’t promised there would have probably been a riot.

She shook her head, which he expected. “I would like to be alone now.”

Ne nodded and was almost out the door when he heard her speak to the fire.

“No more. I will not lose another one.”

He wondered if he was a part of that group.


	5. Kirkwall

Backing away from what was left of Knight-Commander Meredith, Hawke led everyone away from the Gallows. No one spoke as they rowed back to the docks. When she wasn’t taking her turn at the oars Hawke stayed beside Bethany, hands entwined and knuckles white from the force of their grip. While Hawke’s eyes roved through the mists, on watch for impending attacks, Bethany rested her head against her sister’s shoulder. Once they sank the dingy Hawke began giving orders.

“Isabela, ready your ship. We set sail in two hours. Anything you want from the Hanged Man Varric will grab. Varric, you and Merrill grab what you need and meet back at the ship. No dawdling,” she added, eyeing Merrill. Merrill nodded, big eyes even larger in the aftermath of the fight. “Fenris, you and Bethany take an alternate route to the ship just in case we’re being pursued. Anders and I will go and get our things in Hightown.”

“Hawke, I don’t like this,” Fenris said with Bethany nodding in agreement. “You cannot go into Hightown alone with the abomination. What is there that you need?”

“Orana, my dog, your books. Clothes – proper ones – for Bethany.” Her voice softened as she brushed a hand against his forearm. There was something urgent and fearful in her eyes. “Please. I need you to stay with Bethy. I’ll be safe Fenris.”

“You better. Two hours, Sterys. If you’re not back, not even the Maker himself will stop me from finding you.” He kissed her once, swiftly, before he and Bethany faded into Kirkwall. The others followed except for one.

“Hawke.” She sounded cautious.

“Aveline.” She sounded resolute.

“You know I cannot leave Kirkwall. Or Donnic.”

Hawke smiled sadly. “I know. You’d follow me to the Black City if you could. Be well, Aveline, and keep your head down.”

They clasped forearms as Aveline smiled in return. The irony of Hawke’s parting words were not lost on her. “Same to you, Hawke.”

After watching another dear friend leave, Hawke sighed. “Come on Anders.”

They slipped through the city like flickering ghosts to Hawke’s mansion. Climbing the secret footholds hidden behind the ivy Leandra cultivated, they entered via the library, eerily dark and silent. She selected a few books from the shelves by touch alone and shoved them into Anders’ hands. He couldn’t figure out the ties between the books since they ranged from children’s books to Varric and Isabela’s raunchy novels.

Taking backpacks from the chest by her writing desk, Hawke loaded the books and any remaining loot from the chest into one pack. Anders slung that one over his shoulders as she shouldered the empty ones and went upstairs, two at a time. Ignoring her mother’s room she opened her bedroom door.

“Orana? Where are you sweetheart?”

There was a choking sob from the direction of the dark fireplace. They found Orana covered in muddy soot, tiny fingers dug deep into Haine’s hide. At the sight of Hawke she flung herself at her.

“Oh Mistress, I was so scared!” she sobbed into Hawke’s shoulder. “I felt the big rumble and did as you said and hid.”

“Are you alright? Any injuries?” Hawke asked sitting Orana back on her heels and smoothing her hair back.

Orana shook her head, loosing a few locks from Hawke’s hands. “Haine sat on me and made sure I was safe when the house shook. Were you safe?”

“I was,” Hawke lied smoothly before shrugging off the packs. “But it’s not safe now. We have to leave Kirkwall, Orana. Do you remember the plan we practiced?”

She nodded, chin firming and tears drying. She tied her hair back again before reaching for some of Hawke’s packs. “Come, Haine.”

Hawke rose with her and nodded to Anders “Take him with you and load both him and Haine up with as much as they can carry. Remember pack your own things too.”

Nodding again, Orana grabbed Anders’ sleeve and led him to the kitchens.

<><><><> 

“You and my sister, then,” Bethany said as she and Fenris hid in one of the small nooks of Darktown. They were down there to grab the stash that was hidden in the back of Anders’ clinic. It held money and supplies if they needed to get him and Merrill out of the city. After Bethany, Hawke planned many contingencies. Going through Darktown also guaranteed that they wouldn’t be followed by Templars.

Fenris’ misstep had his foot inside a drainage groove. His shoulders, tense and near his ears, lowered. “Yes, Sterys and I. Surely she mentioned it in her letters.”

She shook her head with her fist against her mouth. “Varric said something along the lines of ‘Broody ‘n Hawke are dancin’ around each other. Wanna make a bet if they fight or fuck?’”

Fenris winced at the near perfect imitation of Varric’s voice. “He didn’t.”

“He did. I was too horrified by the imagery I declined the bet. Instead I spent a week trying to find a spell that gave minor memory wiping.” She checked behind her again before adding, “It was difficult for you two to be together, wasn’t it.”

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak on his relationship with Sterys. It had been difficult. It still was difficult. Truth be told, he didn’t think their relationship would ever get easier, especially now that Hawke was back on the run. He had heard stories.

“If it helps, Fenris, I’m glad it’s you.”

It did but he didn’t have the words to express his gratitude so he settled for patting Bethany’s shoulder.

Fenris stepped out into the gloom and Bethany followed close behind. Darktown’s residents were scarce, most likely hiding in whatever hole they could find. Bethany pitied them; from the little information she heard from her sister, something much worse was coming to Kirkwall.

Fortunately Anders’ clinic was secure. They broke in quietly using the lockpicks she smuggled into the Gallows. They were a gift from her sister and it helped her out often enough. The packs were still under Anders’ bed. As Fenris looked around for anything else of use, Bethany dug through some of Anders’ clothes. He turned at the sound of tearing to see Bethany remove her sleeves and reach for her robe’s hem. There was the slight glow of magic in her hands before the cloth gave way and split all the way to her hip. The other side received the same treatment before she tore away most of the long panel revealing ill-fitting leggings. She took her sleeves and pulled them up her legs before shoving her feet into a pair of boots that should have been too big but weren’t. She stomped in them a few times before looking up.

“I think I’m ready to go on the run again. The robes are designed to inhibit strides any longer than a shuffle.”

Taking half of Fenris’ bags she led them back out into the gloom of Darktown, Fenris following after her not even trying to remove the smile from his face.

<><><><> 

Sterys watched Orana push Anders around from the shadows. It hadn’t taken long for her to gather the things she needed; she kept everything valuable in a secret passage that connected her and Leandra’s room. Gathering Fenris’ things was a quick run over the Hightown roofs to his window. Everything of his fit into a pack with room to spare. The bow on her back felt uncomfortable but she had to be ready for anything.

“Wrap that in oilcloth and don’t pack it with the salt,” chastised Orana, sounding as authoritative as Leandra pushing around her children when she still had them. It was amusing and painful for Hawke to watch. She bit her lip as Orana further scolded Anders for trying to pack the cheese and meat together on Haine. The girl was timid in all places except the kitchen. It was the one place where she had power and she wielded it well.

When they finished packing supplies to Orana’s satisfaction, the girl reached for her bag as Anders also reached for it. Haine must have interpreted the movement as an attack – even without a mabari’s nose he smelled of blood and the Fade – because he jumped in between the two with a growl. When Justice didn’t flare and Anders stepped back warily Hawke left the shadows.

“Haine, leave it.” She turned to Anders, eyeing him critically. “Justice is quiet.”

He flinched. “He seems content with how things are right now.”

Hawke slammed him into the nearest wall, forearm against his throat. She heard Orana’s startled cry and Haine’s renewed growl behind her. “Content? He’s content that people will continue dying? Content that he – you – both of you have brought war to Thedas? Content that I lose everything?”

“Hawke, please,” Anders choked, wide-eyed and lacking any sort of ethereal glow. “I—”

She pressed harder, snarling. “I meant what I said, Anders. Justice or no, you will live to see the consequences of your actions. All of them.”

“Mistress?”

It was Orana’s voice, once again quavering and teary, that had her pulling away disgusted.

“Let’s go. Our time is almost up.

<><><><> 

Isabela’s ship creaked gently against the docks as if it knew the importance of silence. It was big enough to handle open water but small enough that it could hopefully be crewed by their ragtag assembly. At least, that was what Isabela had told her when they were making contingencies in Varric’s room late at night. She hoped it was still true lacking two sets of hands.

Varric greeted them at the gangplank, Bianca draped lovingly over his shoulder. He greeted Orana with a warm smile and pinched cheek before ushering her and Anders up on deck. He and Hawke followed up slower.

“We’re about ready to go. Isabela is just waiting for some friends.”

Hawke looked around. “Are Fenris and Bethany here?”

Varric snorted and gestured to the open hatch that led below deck. “Been arguing like siblings about who gets to share a bunk with you. With Sunshine’s Force magic they’re one step away from doing the glowy thing to get this settled. Besides, Hawke, they looted the clinic and managed to find time for Bethany to accessorize her new apostate wear. She’ll be setting mage fashion trends from here to the Anderfels.”

Hawke chuckled despite herself as she helped unload Haine and Anders. He only had enough time to groan and stretch his back before Merrill came up out of the hold and put him to work moving everything down into the cargo hold. Her Dalish heritage was of use for once; helping them mobilize for the trip rather than hindering their progress.

“Who are we waiting for, Varric? I can’t recall friends I’m willing to risk my life for that aren’t on the ship now.”

“Don’t worry Hawke,” Isabela grinned at her from behind the wheel, whisky eyes bright. “They are the best boys you could have next to a bastard prince.”

“Maligning a dear friend of mine, Isabela? That is hardly kind even if he didn’t agree to that threesome,” a thick Antivan accent chided. Hawke turned to see Zevran and Nathaniel climb onboard before removing the gangplank.

Isabela whooped.

“Alright, everyone to their stations. Raise the sails, we’re ditching Kirkwall! Zevran, be a dear and into your nest. Nathaniel, I want you on the prow.”

“And me?” Hawke asked.

Isabela’s eyes softened. “Say good bye, Hawke. This will probably be the last time you see Kirkwall.”

Nodding, Hawke stood at the railing and watched the city grow beyond her reach.

Seven years. And then seven years again. Each time she had to leave her home and lose whatever life she had built up. Now she stood on a ship fleeing home once again with seven people who she had built something of a life with. She was starting to hate that number. Her father was buried in the first home she knew, now Blighted land. Her mother – every piece of her – was buried in the second home she had known, soon to become blighted by war. This was what Varric called history repeating itself. Hawke called it a Maker-be-damned bad joke.

Gauntleted hands coaxed her hand to loosen its grip on the railing and let her fingers entwine with his as an arm wrapped around her waist. Hawke exhaled.

She still had her family, as broken and patchwork as it was. It was bigger now but no less hers. She had Fenris and Bethany was by her side again. Whatever may happen in however many iterations of seven, she could handle it.

Considering her losses, she still felt like she came out on top.


End file.
